


Flesh and Bone and Spirit

by Spacecarrots



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hair Dyeing, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, if yall want it to be ;], ive dyed my hair like once DO NOT use this a guide so help me, platonic hair pulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecarrots/pseuds/Spacecarrots
Summary: Gueira is mourning his Promare so they do some beauty therapy
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Flesh and Bone and Spirit

"How about now?" Meis tipped a little black bowl filled with bright red dye, the colour of raspberry, sunsets, hydraulic oil, toward Gueira. Gueira sat by the side of the bed, an elbow brace on his knee, and Lio parting his hair into small puffy ponytails. He eyed it sceptically, like he would anyone non-burnish and then sniffed. 

"Whatever It'll do." He huffed indignantly. Lio gave the hair in his hands a gentle little tug while Meis grabbed a bottle of conditioner. Gueira have little gasp and scowled, more confused than angry at his former leader. Lio raised a pale eyebrow and glanced to Meis. With effort, and a lot of screwing up his features, Gueira nonchalantly said. "Thanks M, it's pretty close." 

Meis sat, folding his long, bendy, praying mantis legs next to him, dye in his lap and shared a knowing look with Lio before shrugging. "We could always burn the ends off with some magnesium if you wanted." 

Now it was Meis turn to get a stern look. Though this one was more along the lines of don't encourage him, rather than don't be rude. Two things he'd never thought he'd be saying to his generals, unless it was laced with sarcasm, while sat on a camping bed in an oversized band t-shirt in a tent. 

"That would be gnarly!" Gueira cheered. Meis grinned at Lio then at Gueira that was now eyeing the mix in Meis' hands with more enthusiasm. Lio gave Gueira's hair another tug, this time with a little more force and the spiky boy growled. "M'just sayin'!" Then quieter muttered to no one in particular. "It would be, wasn't gonna." Then were quite for a minute in which Meis now looked up to Lio for guidance. He met his look with a sad understanding, and this time gently pull his hand on the top of Gueira head. His shoulders, so sharp and square and proud, deflated a little and he bowed his head. Grief, Lio thought, wasn't a good colour on Gueira. So bold and mischievous, to see him flex his fingers like a busted lighter, a phantom pain for a lost light, and to be anything but a condensed version of his horned, broad, and teeth bearing self. It made Lio grieve too. Meis pressed the toes of one foot to his Gueira's bare leg, a pale sea washed set of pebbles against sun kissed bronze sand. 

When Gueira spoke, his voice was low and far away. "I know we're not supposed to say it," he said, the only expression of his frustration in the way his fingers flexed. "But I  _ miss it.  _ So much." He tilted his head back to look up at Lio. "Is that bad?" 

Lio stroked his baby hair from his forehead, dusting them into his hairline. "No." He replied. "Not bad. A new normal, possibly. Not healthy," he tapped at his temple pensively. "But not bad." 

Something in his sharp red eyes eased a fraction as he stared off into space. "So frying me ends is out of the question?"

"Maybe not the kind of frying your thinking of, but if you want you can go all red." Meis said dryly, depositing the brush into the mix, and taking a stray lock of dark hair before passing it to Lio. Lio smirked. 

"We'd have to be careful in the pizzeria," Lio smirked. "And around Galo. He might think you're edible." 

"And you wouldn't want that now would you, Boss?" Gueira grinned wickedly. And Lio gave one of his buns a tight tug. He let out a shock of pained laughter and covered his head.

Three pairs of pink red hands, some mournful rock music, and a dubious look at the small sink in the toilet cubicle later, Meis was washing the dye out of Gueira's hair, with long gentle fingers. When he was done Gueira, in his teal tank top and some boxers shook his hair out like he was at a metal concert and examined the ends of his hair in the mirror. He was right it wasn't the same burnt, crisp, red it had been when he'd had his promare, but it was close enough. Though that seemed to suit him fine. While Lio stretch around Meis' lanky frame to rinse the fresh dark blue out Gueira fluffed his hair and grinned at him like his mad burnish armour. Teeth and wicked joy. 


End file.
